


Conversion

by Jara257



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Blind Character, Catholic Guilt, Eventual Smut, Haunting, M/M, Priest AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-24
Updated: 2016-06-25
Packaged: 2018-07-16 22:53:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7287895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jara257/pseuds/Jara257
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Father Jack Morrison is being haunted by someone from his past; someone he's left behind far too many times. It's only a matter of time before Gabriel catches up to him.</p><p>He's not sure whether to be worried or relieved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Our Father

**Author's Note:**

> so this is stuff for my [priest au](http://jara257.tumblr.com/post/146365494239/ugh-sorry-these-are-messy-but-i-need-a-reaper76) where i get to complain a lot about my catholic guilt via my otp. Also, i’m sorry for religious inaccuracies, i’m not as versed in baptist doctrine and whatnot. please don't hesitate to message me and tell me if i get something wrong--i'll see what i can do to correct it.
> 
> thanks to periberrytea on tumblr for beta reading!

It’s pitch black. He can feel that his eyes are open, the soft breeze caressing the damaged membrane. But he sees nothing. He hasn’t been able to see since the date marked on the tombstone in front of him.

He reaches forward, feeling rough stone under his calloused fingertips. He runs them over the engraved text that he cannot read despite his many hours of studying braille. Engraved text just isn’t the same. He doesn’t need to understand to know what it says, though.

“Gabriel Reyes,” he mutters before standing.

“It’s been almost five years. Though, time really means nothing to you anymore, I suppose. It might’ve been more appropriate to visit on your anniversary, but. Well, Dia de Los Muertos feels much more appropriate.”

The gravestone says nothing in reply.

Jack continues instead, gripping his cane tightly. “I’m leaving. Again. I know that I’ve probably done that one too many times, but. I really have to this time. I’m sorry.”

His apology hangs over the tombstone until he can no longer stand it. He leaves, walking toward the taxi parked along the cemetary road. He had a new church to head.

But if Jack had been able to see, he might have seen an owl perching itself directly on top of the same headstone he’d touched only moments before.

Jack awoke slowly, swimming upward toward consciousness before opening his eyes. He didn’t know why he bothered; there was no difference between opening or closing them. He chalked it up to strange psychology--he could see in his dreams and it tricked him into thinking he could actually see in his waking hours. But he never could.

He sat up, trying to remember his dream. It was a memory again. Though, oddly it was about a time when he was already blind, about six years ago. It was a rather rare occurrence. Only, in the dream he could see, except it wasn’t from his own perspective... or was it?

Jack shook his head, pushing the covers off of himself and dropping his legs off the bed. It was only a dream. He should be getting ready for mass.

20 minutes later, he was processing down the aisle of the church.

It had been a long time since Jack felt nervous about celebrating mass. Probably not since his conversion decades ago. But for the past few weeks, something was different. Even as he read out the gospel, delivered his homily, consecrated the bread and wine, the old priest could feel a distinct weight on his chest. At this point, it had become such a regular occurrence, he was beginning to wonder if God was trying to tell him something.

“In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit,” Jack signed, blessing the small congregation.

“Amen.”

But then again, he hadn’t really heard God’s voice in quite some time.

As Jack stepped down from the altar steps and processed out, he waited for the heavy feeling to dissipate as it had every time before. It takes a few moments, longer than before, but eventually the weight loosens it’s grip and disappears. He returned to the sacristy near the back of the church, going through his usual routine of removing his robes and vestments. As he slipped a pair of dark shades over his milky white eyes, he caught the scent of something… coffee. But a very specific smell of coffee; there were people passing by a window pane as he stared out, the cozy feeling of a closed space...

“Reverend?”

Jack snaps out of his thoughts, turning his gaze from the cafe window back across the table. The man sitting there is looking at the young reverend expectantly, looking somewhat uncomfortable in the small seat. Jack smiles. “Sorry, sorry. Just thinking. ”

“Well, do you have an answer to show for all that?” the older man chuckles lightly, leaning back in his chair. Jack watches how the white band around the man’s neck stretches, poking out from under the black collar of his shirt. It really doesn’t seem any different from the collar around his own neck. Catholic, Baptist. Yet here they are. It seems strange that they had met only a short time ago yet they’re already speaking to one another as though they’d known each other for years.

Jack gives a small dip of the head, furrowing his brow trying to formulate a sentence. “‘Faith-alone’ shouldn’t be such a blanket statement. It’s more nuanced than that--things are not always so black and white.”

“Yet it’s such an integral part of your religion, is it not?” The priest takes a sip from his cup, looking at Jack expectantly once again. “If you allow for too much nuance, how do you know what is good?”

Jack shifts in his seat, running a finger over the rim of his own cup. The coffee was already cold. He catches a glimpse of the time on his watch, his eyes widening before an amused huff pushes past his lips.

“Geez… we’ve been talking for about three hours already.” He glances back up at the other. “I think we can continue this another time.”

The older man barks out a laugh, more harsh than one would probably expect from a priest, but Jack knows it’s still well-meant. “Alright, I’ll give you more time to come up with an answer, Reverend John.”

Jack stands from his seat, offering a hand to the other. “Please just call me Jack. Until next time, Father Gabriel.”

Gabriel smiles as he takes the hand before raising it to his lips to plant a kiss on its back. “Just Gabe is fine.”

Jack shook his head, pulling his hand to his lips, running a calloused finger over the scar there. That… Gabriel didn’t do that. They’d shaken hands and parted ways to meet up again later. That was all.

He chalked it up to his old age--he was misremembering things. They never did anything like that.

Not until later, anyway.


	2. Divine Mercy

Jack took confessions regardless of time or day, it was his duty as a priest. But like most churches, he had a designated time blocked in specifically for confessions. For him it was every Saturday, three to five PM.

However, today seemed rather slow--he’d already been sitting in the confessional for about 30 minutes, waiting for the sounds of someone opening the door on the other side of the confessional. There was really no need for a screen divider--the old priest knew most of the townsfolk by voice at this point and it wasn’t like he could see them even if the screen weren’t there. It was simply a product of the church’s many years in this town, long before Jack had ever set foot here.

He wondered how the town hadn’t heard of him before despite the large Catholic population. Then again, perhaps that was it--a Catholic population had no need for protestant conversion stories, did they? He could remember the first time he’d been asked to give his testament, years and years ago. It had been somewhat nerve wracking, but it had been the meal afterward that had calmed his nerves.

“Well, if it isn’t Mr. Big-Shot himself.” Gabriel’s words seem cutting, but it’s tinged with amusement as Jack walks into the small kitchen, a flavourful aroma filling the space. Jack gives a small, humoured snort at Gabe’s apron.

“‘World’s Okayest Dad?’” Jack reads aloud as he walks over to get a better a look at what the older priest is cooking.

Gabe turns back to his dish, pushing the meat around in the sauce. “A gift from one of the parishioners to Father Pat. And it’s adobo. Beef.”

Jack lets out a small hum, leaning back to rest on the counter as Gabe continues in his task. “I haven’t seen you cooking in a long while. You learn most of this stuff from your mom?”

The older priest nods. “I owe her a lot. She straightened me out when I got into trouble.”

“Which just had to be a lot, didn’t it?” Jack prods, giving Gabriel a teasing a look that he rarely shares with anyone else.

“Hey, y’know what, you haven’t told me about your trip.” He’s trying to steer the conversation away, clearly. Jack lets him. “You have a good time?”

The blond man reaches up a hand to rub at the back of his neck sheepishly. “Yeah, it was… good. I forgot what it was like to speak in front of a large group. And they were recording me. I’m not sure if I even want to hear it later.”

“You’ve spent too much time cooped up in the seminary,” Gabe teases as he turns off the stove’s burner, deeming the dish fully cooked. “I think getting out there and sharing your story would do both you and the church good.”

Jack’s head shakes in a so-so motion, rising from his position against the counter. “I don’t know. Maybe. But I think I want to keep focusing on my studies before I continue with any of that. I should only have a year left before I’m ordained. After that, we’ll see.”

Gabe gives an understanding nod as he spears one of the pieces of meat with fork. Lifting the fork up, Gabe offers it to Jack with an expectant look. “Well, God’s will be done, right?”

Jack smiles in reply, taking the fork from Gabe, lifting it in a toast. “God’s will be done.”

As he sinks his teeth into the beef, a bit of sauce escapes, and he gives out a muffled ‘whoops’ as it drips down past his lips onto his chin. He’s about to reach a fist up to wipe it away until a hand wraps around his wrist, stopping him.

Jack gives out a small laugh, looking at Gabriel quizzically. There’s something strange in his eyes as he stares at the Jack’s mouth. “Gabe, what--”

“Let me get that for you,” Gabe’s voice is barely above a whisper.

He doesn’t have the chance to retort as Gabe leans in, lapping at the errant trail of sauce, trailing upward to Jack’s lips and biting down.

“Jack,” the older priest breathes into Jack’s mouth. For a long moment, Jack is frozen, unsure of what to do or say. Something isn’t right. It...

“Stop that,” Jack growled, unsure of who he was addressing--himself or… whatever that was. Either way, no one could hear him other than God himself--it hung in the empty confessional.

Or at least, he’d thought it was empty.

“Are you alright, Father?” It was a male voice, situated on the other side of the confessional. So caught up in his thoughts, he apparently hadn’t noticed the man slip into the booth. The voice didn’t seem familiar, it certainly didn’t belong to anyone that he knew from the town, the voice low in tone, almost gravelly in nature. Someone just visiting, probably.

“I am, thanks for asking,” he said a bit more gruffly than he’d intended. He changed his tone to something more pleasant as he continued. “You don’t sound like you’re from around here. Are you passing through?”

“Something like that,” the man said ambiguously, though Jack was used to those sort of answers--not many people were ever very specific about their sins. “Guess I’ll start, then?”

Jack gives a small grunt in reply and the man begins, “Forgive me father, for I have sinned, my last confession was... Hm, I’m afraid I can’t recall when my last confession was.”

“That’s fine. Go ahead.”

“I’ve been having doubts about the faith, my mind has been addled with these ideas...”

The stranger trailed off, as though expecting Jack to interject. Jack considered telling the man he couldn’t speak for too long before deciding against it. He could take his time with this one. Besides--he’d said he hadn’t been to confession in some time. It would be worth it.

“Would you care to elaborate?” Jack prompted.

Time slipped by as they spoke, almost argued at points. The man seemed rather versed in theology, possibly a former minister or clergy member. He held his ground even against the grizzled priest as they discussed various topics from metaphysics to apologetics. After a while, he began to wonder if the man had really come in for a confession at all. It was only when his watch’s alarm goes off to indicate it was five PM that he realized they’d been speaking for about an hour and a half.

He was a little miffed by the interruption--he had a good counter to the other man’s thoughts on the ethics of evangelization. “I’m sorry, but it seems that we’ll have to wrap this up, I have to get ready for the evening mass.”

No answer. Jack frowned, tapping at the screen divider. “Hello?”

The man was gone. The old priest huffed. He hadn’t even given the man his absolution.

Yet he found himself hoping the man would return next week.

* * *

 

“Hellooo, guess who! Father John, you in? Got a visitor!”

Jack lifted his head at the sound of the knock at the door, hands lifting from their place on the raised braille beneath his fingertips. He knew only one person who knocked so enthusiastically and always spoke with such enthusiasm.

“Yes, Sister Lena, come in.”

The English nun was always bustling about, working in and around the parish, always a smile on her face as she helped the community. She’d arrived here a few years ago, assigned by her archdiocese, though she was called away on mission sometimes. Jack would be the last to admit he sometimes missed her enthusiasm when she was gone, but it seemed that this time, she’d returned with someone else in tow. He could only hope they were more… subdued than Lena.

He registered the sound of a light switch being flicked on in his small office and he couldn’t help but wonder what time it was if Sister Lena and her mystery guest needed them on. The sound of a sprightly set of footsteps approaching (Lena’s) almost smothered another set; they were more quiet, careful, almost. Not present at all.

“So, who’s your guest, Sister?” Jack felt around for his shades before slipping them over his eyes. He didn’t want to disturb their guest too much with his unseeing stare. “Almost as though you’ve got a ghost in tow.”

“Forgive me, Father John,” an accented female voice spoke, “I’ll try to be more considerate in the future.”

“This is Mother Angela,” Lena introduced, “She’s with the Sisters of Mercy based in Switzerland.”

Jack gave a quizzical look. “Didn’t know they’d expanded there.”

“We’re not so large of a community,” Angela said, her speech succinct and clipped. Jack could appreciate that. “We have a small care centre in Zürich and a nearby town, but not much else.”

“I trust it’s doing well then if their Mother Superior came to our small parish for a visit.” The priest nodded, waving a hand to indicate to the seats in front of his desk. “Please, have a seat.”

“I’m afraid we can’t, Father,” Lena cut in, “We just wanted to come in and give you a heads up before we got to work. Mother Angela will probably be staying here for about a month to work on a little project with me.”

“We’re looking to recruit youth to go on mission and Lena already quite a number in her youth group. More hands make light work and all,” the older woman explained, “We’ll be going in and out of town, but this will be our ‘main base’ for lack of a better term.”

“So we’ve gotta dash,” Lena said apologetically, “Meeting with the kids in a few minutes in the hall.”

“See you later, Dad!” Jack could hear Lena practically shoving Angela out the door, but the older nun managed a formal farewell before leaving. “It was very nice meeting you, Father John.”

Jack probably should have questioned more about how all of this had never even crossed his desk, given how he was the parish head, but something had caught him off guard, derailing his thoughts.

“Dad?” he said to the empty office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry that the pacing is weird, i'm not a good at multi-chapter fics ;~;
> 
> the next chapter's gonna have some naughty times, stay tuned.


End file.
